


How Do I Even Ask

by DontBeDead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontBeDead/pseuds/DontBeDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg doesn't know how to propose. Turns out to be not as bad as he'd feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do I Even Ask

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck fucking fuckity fuck.

That had pretty much been Greg’s train of thought for the past month or so. And it had got increasingly more so over the past week. Because now it was Christmas Eve, and he still had no idea what to get his boyfriend, apart from the obvious. He’d been planning this for a while now, but if Greg chickened out or Mycroft decided he didn’t want that, didn’t think they were at that stage yet, he wouldn’t have anything as a back-up.

He had been pacing their bedroom for the past hour or so, head bowed against his chest, shoulders hunched forward and hands clasped tightly behind his back, trying to figure something out. But what could you possibly get someone who had everything already? He’d slipped upstairs to escape his boyfriend’s watchful eye not long after his usual evening coffee, with the excuse of being tired, not wanting the eldest Holmes brother to know about his predicament.  He felt so guilty for not having done anything to organize this sooner, but he had just no idea.

And he was so thankful that his boyfriend seemed to have this crazy obsession with the festive season, going crazy over the past week with decorating, counting down the days, making sure all their presents were wrapped and placed under the tree. He’d even taken to wearing Christmas sweaters and Santa hats around the flat when they were alone. They’d each gotten normal things as well like books, socks, jocks, DVD’s and other such things, but he knew Mycroft had bought him something special, really special, just for him. And he was so desperate to reciprocate, to prove that he could be just as brilliant as Mycroft bloody Holmes.

He was in the midst of tearing his hair from his scalp, growling and cussing himself as he paced when the grandfather clock in Mycroft’s office downstairs began to ring, twelve times. It was midnight. Christmas morning. Fuck.

Greg realized it was now or never because he was rapidly losing any nerve he had to do this when he’d decided on it. He could hear Mycroft hurrying up the stairs towards their bedroom, bound to be as excited as a puppy with a tennis ball, and Greg had to move now, otherwise he’d never do it. So he fished the small box from his coat pocket and tore open the door of the bedroom.

Just as he’d expected, Mycroft had a cheesy grin on his face, cheeks flushed from the fireplace, the countless mugs of Christmas cocoa he’d insisted on having and excitement, his eyes having this pretty little gleam in them. And Greg thought he was absolutely beautiful, ugly sweater and all. But he had no time to admire him, needing to ask before he changed his mind. Again

“Mycroft, will you marry me?”

The man in question looked surprised to see him suddenly in front of him, his hand raised to push open the door. He had been halfway through a sentence when Greg had interrupted. “Gregory dear, it’s Christma—“ But he didn’t seem to fully process what Greg had asked.

The Detective Inspector blushed furiously and fell to one knee, opening the ring box and holding it out.

“Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?”

His eyes were wide with panic of rejection, lips parted as he breathed heavily from fear, hope written all over his face. He so desperately wanted Mycroft to say yes but he was just staring at him, mouth agape and not saying anything. And Greg was beginning to become uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. Greg knew it wasn’t very romantic, had hoped he’d do it perfectly and that it would be so memorable and completely what Mycroft deserved.

Not…this.

Greg sighed heavily and closed his eyes, closing the ring box and moving to stand up. “I’m sorry, I should have asked, I just—“ He was cut off by a warm set of lips on his, breath tasting of chocolate, warm milk and home.

And Greg knew he had his answer then as Mycroft fell to his knees before him, his lean hands cupping the stubbled cheeks of the DI and kissing him slowly and deeply, their bodies pressed together as strong arms tugged Mycroft’s waist closer. And that was all they needed for the next few hours or so, clothes tugged out of the way and left in a heap on the floor, barely managing to make the bed before they were both crying out in pleasure, hands stroking, caressing, bodies rocking as they came together as one body, one soul, one love.

As Greg lay there in a tangle of sheets, chest rising and falling slowly as his heart calmed, an arm thrown over his eyes, the other holding a sleepy Mycroft to his chest, he heard the words he’d been crazy enough for all evening. He was almost asleep, delirious from the pleasure Mycroft had given his body.

“I’d be honoured to marry you, Gregory Lestrade.”

The Detective Inspector slept with a smile on his face that night, holding his lover, his soul mate, his fiancée close, dreaming of their life together. He dreamt of their future, their plans, everything they wanted to do together. And when he awoke in the morning to a happy Mycroft grinning at him like the Cheshire cat, the ring upon his left hand matching the shade of his eyes perfectly, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to be as happy as he was in that moment.

The tedious family lunches that followed or the hectic task of telling everyone of their engagement could do nothing to draw away from his ultimate happiness, Greg knowing for certain that this had been the best Christmas of his life. And he didn’t dare hope that next year would be even better, because he honestly did not know how the world would survive him being so completely happy. And he could only thank one Mycroft Holmes for that. For giving him his life back.

 

 

 


End file.
